


Harry Potter and the Southern Quadrant

by Gazara12



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Gen, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-02
Updated: 2019-09-02
Packaged: 2020-10-05 11:35:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20488241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gazara12/pseuds/Gazara12
Summary: An AU where one loyal follower goes looking for Voldemort immediately after his fall. Harry becomes an unknowing pawn in an international chess game: political intrigue is as much a threat as Death Eaters themselves. Voldemort isn't just powerful, he's clever, and Harry isn't nearly ready for what's in store.Future Sex and Violence, once Harry gets a bit older.





	Harry Potter and the Southern Quadrant

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fanfiction in *years*, so please be gentle! I'm hoping to take this story in a dark and interesting direction, as I hope to bring in a bit of the politics of the wider wizarding world. Specifically, I want to look at the consequences if one of Voldemort's followers had gone looking for him immediately after the fall. Namely, an Italian wizard by the name of Giovanotti.
> 
> The story is going to have quite a bit of sex and violence, but not for a few chapters -- I'm going to give Harry a chance to grow up a bit first before everything goes to hell.

**Harry Potter and the Southern Quadrant**

**Chapter 1**

Five past midnight.

The man in the dark scarlet cloak cursed under his breath as he stole a glance at his pocketwatch, noting the time. His associate had promised to arrive thirty-five minutes ago, and he was starting to get impatient. A chill wind had begun to blow about ten minutes earlier, and pulling the cloak tighter around his shoulders was doing little to stave off the cold.

“Damn the man,” he muttered, when suddenly there was a loud _crack_, and the darkness ahead of him appeared a little more dark. He stood up a little straighter, and said, “_Buona notte_, sir. What’s the news?”

The darkness pulled down its hood, and a dour looking man with close-cropped blond hair looked at the speaker. His eyes seemed almost dead inside.

“The attack was unsuccessful. Godric’s Hollow is a bloody mess, Aurors crawling everywhere. From what I can tell, Giovanotti, our Lord is dead.”

Giovanotti of the Scarlet Cloak frowned, and then shook his head in disbelief. “The Order must have laid a trap, no? Something of the sort. Dumbledore finally must have been a step ahead.”

“No, Lily and James Potter are dead as well." 

“Then how...?”

The blond gave a laugh, but there was no humour behind it. “The boy. The boy killed the greatest wizard to walk this land in five hundred years. A bloody _infant_.”

This stunned the scarlet cloak into silence. _The boy? How was that possible?_ His mind, ever quick, screeched to a halt. The only question he could think to ask was, “What will you do now, Yaxley?” 

Yaxley shrugged. “I suppose I’ll do what I must. Lie, and claim I was imperiused. What option do I have? The Dark Lord is dead. I’ll not go to Azkaban for a corpse.”

There was a brief moment of silence, and then Giovanotti shifted uncomfortably. “Something about this feels wrong. It should not be so easy to dispose of one as powerful as he, no? I have...” he paused to search for the word, “...an _inkling_ that there is more to this. That is the word, yes?”

Yaxley gave an exhausted nod, and then shrugged. “If you want to throw your life away to try and search for a dead man, be my guest. I’ll be doing no such thing. I have a family to think of, mate. I’m not going on a wild goose chase.”

The senior Death Eater turned on his heels, and began to walk away before a thought struck him, and he turned back around. “What will you do now? You know they’ll be coming for you.”

Giovanotti of the Scarlet Cloak smiled, but the smile never reached his eyes. “Looks like it’ll be a fairly hasty return to Italy. The Ministry may have long arms, but they do not reach to Salerno.”

Yaxley paused, then nodded and turned away. A loud crack echoed through the night again, and Giovanotti was left alone with his thoughts.

He began walking, coming out onto a street lit up with street lamps. He moved along until he came to a small bridge over a large railroad track. Cars drove by, their headlights frequently blinding him as he leaned against the wall of the bridge. Surreptitiously, he pulled his want out of his pocket, and muttered a spell under his breath, and in midair in front of him materialized a broom, de-cloaking it from where it had been hidden. He looked around at the small town one more time, smiled sadly, and then got on the broom and kicked off as soon as no cars were going by. Within seconds, the small town was merely a speck behind him as he sped away. He was leaving the Chilterns, and soon England, far behind him.

_I will find him_ . _I will bring him back. I will never let this vision die._

-(*)-(*)-(*)-(*)-(*)- 

Ten Years Later

-(*)-(*)-(*)-(*)-(*)- 

In a small town in Surrey, there lived a perfectly normal family, with a perfectly normal lawn, a perfectly normal house, and a perfectly normal son. The Dursley clan was perfectly normal, and perfectly happy.

This was, at least, the image they were extremely careful to cultivate for their neighbours. It was a daily fear of the mother, Petunia Dursley, that their neighbours would discover the peculiarities of the _other_ child. Her sister had got herself blown up a decade prior, and the Dursleys had been stuck with their boy. _Harry Potter. _He was a constant reminder of how much she had hated her sister, and her fool of a husband.

On the particular morning of July 26 th , she had awoken at the crack of dawn, as was her wont. She had slipped out of bed, careful not to awaken her husband Vernon, and tip-toed down the stairs to the kitchen. There, she’d had a quick nip of toast and some tea, and sat down in front of the television to watch the early morning news.

Petunia had always loved this time of the day, before anyone else was awake. The world was almost... quiet, free of the worries and anxieties that plagued her. As she turned the TV on, careful to keep the volume low, she let herself relax. A rare feat for her.

“...further updates on the ongoing earthquakes in southern Italy, another fifteen people have been injured in Naples as quakes continue. Seismologists tell us they think a tsunami is unlikely, but the people of this city, as well as the whole Amalfi coast, remain on edge. Rescue efforts continue, and hopefully we’ll have further updates for you as the day continues. Derrick Cromwell, BBC News, Naples.”

Petunia shut the telly back off. No point interrupting a perfectly good morning with rotten news.

She heard the sound of feet on carpet behind her, and craned her head around to see a slim, raven-haired boy standing at the entrance to the den, looking bleary-eyed.

“G’morning Aunt Petunia,” he said, yawning.

“Ah, Harry, did I wake you? My apologies.”

A pang of guilt ran through Petunia. She’d tried to be especially careful not to wake anybody, but she must have made quite a bit of noise going down the stairs.

“S’all right, I fell asleep early last night, got enough sleep I think.”

Petunia nodded, then stood up, and said, “well, if you’re up, I may as well make some breakfast. Sausage and eggs, Harry?”

“Oh, yes please, sounds delicious!”

Petunia made her way to the kitchen as the young boy followed behind. As she started up the stove, she turned a critical eye to Harry.

They’d not been _thrilled_ when a baby had turned up on their doorstep, especially when they had an infant of their own already to care for. Vernon had argued for taking him to an orphanage, but Petunia couldn’t just abandon her sister’s child, no matter how big a rift had grown between them. The situation had been cemented when they’d read the letter from one “Professor Dumbledore”, explaining the most peculiar situation surrounding Harry’s predicament. They’d had no choice then but to keep him.

They’d fed him, clothed him, and tried to show him as much love as they did their own son. It was hard, sometimes, given how she felt about her sister, but as the years had gone by, despite the fact he was the spitting image of James Potter, she had grown to tolerate the boy.

Perhaps even to love him.

“Oh, damn, I’m out of oil” she muttered, and called to Harry to watch the pan. She then popped into the hallway, and opened the cupboard under the stairs. She used it as an overflow storage space, for when the pantry was too full. She dug around until she found a big bottle of sunflower oil, and then returned to the kitchen with it.

Within a few minutes, the sausage and eggs were done, and Petunia sat down with Harry as he began to eat.

“So, Harry, have you given any thought to what you want to do for your birthday?”

Harry swallowed a piece of sausage, and then frowned. “Not really. Maybe a trip to Madame Tussaud’s in London? After all, we went to the zoo for Dudley’s and I’d like to do something different.”

Petunia smiled. “I’ll see what we can do.”

-(*)-(*)-(*)-(*)-(*)-

Five days later, they had loaded into the car, and driven into London to go to the wax museum. Dudley and Harry had gotten ice creams, and they’d all had a lovely time seeing the wax figures. The day had taken a bit of an odd turn, however, when Harry had gotten a bit lost at one point. Turning around, looking for his family, he couldn’t shake the feeling that the wax figures’ eyes were moving. Additionally, as he’d wandered among the figures (and the crowds), a man in a bright purple top hat had wandered over, and offered him a deep bow. Harry was sure he’d never seen this man before in his life, but the fellow proclaimed, “a wonderful day to you, Mr. Potter!” and then bounced away, and Harry immediately lost him in the crowd. Unnerved, Harry began to move a bit faster through the hordes of people.

Then, out of nowhere, he was alone. The crowds had parted, and he was surrounded by just the wax statues.

Suddenly, a crashing noise echoed throughout the museum, and Harry looked up to see a metal beam falling from the ceiling towards him. His mouth opened to scream, but the wind was knocked out of him as he was tackled to the ground. The bar hit the ground with a resounding _thud_, and Harry looked up at his saviour, only to see that it was a wax statue of Whitney Houston. Confused and scared, Harry started to get back up, only to be held down by the statue. It then said, in a surprisingly deep voice, “Hold on. Aurors will be here momentarily. You are safe. Please remain calm. I repeat. Aurors will be hear momentarily. You are safe. Please remain calm. “

Harry muttered “I have no idea what you’re saying,” and squirmed out of the figure’s hold. He dashed out of the room, and found himself amongst the crowd again. He ran, and ran, until he charged straight into Dudley. He bowled the two of them over, and they sprawled on the floor.

“Harry!” Dudley said in surprise, “Where did you go?”

“Got lost,” Harry muttered, pulling himself up and then helping his cousin to his feet. Now that he was out of danger, his adrenaline was subsiding, and he felt a bit silly. “Almost got hit by a falling metal bar though, didn’t you hear it? It was really loud!”

Dudley gave him an odd look. “No, I never heard anything like that. Come on, let’s go find mum and dad, they were worried about you.”

Harry gave one more look around, and then followed Dudley further into the museum. In the room behind him, a long series of cracks rang out, and a large number of men and women in cloaks appeared, seemingly out of nowhere.

“Damn, he’s gone”, one of the women growled, approaching the fallen bar and the now prone Whitney Houston statue. “I would have liked to ask him some questions.”

“He’s just a kid, Edwina. I don’t think he even knows about magic. That would have been totally inappropriate,” one of the other women responded grumpily.

“I know, I know. I just think it’d be fascinating to see what he remembers. You know, of that night.”

“Here’s a question you might ask instead,” one of the men interrupted. “This beam was severed by magic. It’s a good thing we have a detective charm on the boy, or he’d have been killed. The question is, who did this, and why?”

“The why seems obvious,” replied another man. “To kill the Boy Who Lived. I think the more relevant question is _who_.”

“Fair assessment, Yaxley,” one of the women stated. “Let’s look for clues. Split up, and put up a Muggle-repelling charm.”

Thirty minutes later, they’d completely turned the place over.

“Damn, no clues. Whoever did this was thorough.”

“Or, they weren’t here, and did this from afar,” Yaxley said.

The group paused to consider that. Yaxley looked up at the ceiling, and then his eyes narrowed. He could have sworn he saw a flash of scarlet in the darkness. In the silence, suddenly they heard a low whistling sound. One of the Aurors turned around, a red-headed woman, and frowned.

“What the hell is tha--”

-(*)-(*)-(*)-(*)-(*)- 

As the Dursleys got into their car, they heard a loud _boom_, like the explosions on the telly. Dudley was in the process of entering the back seat, and was thrown into the car, the door slamming shut behind him. The car rocked as a shockwave passed through it, and a bright light shone down through the window. As it faded, they saw that Madame Tussaud’s now had a huge hole in the side of the building, and fire licked the sides of the large dome.

“Holy hell, that could have been us,” cursed Vernon. The stout man turned the key in the ignition, and the car raced away from the scene. As they made their way back home, Vernon began to visibly shake, and Petunia put a hand on his arm. This seemed to give the man strength, and he drove without a stop until they made it back to Little Whinging. They walked single file back into the house, and all sat down in the den, nobody saying a word. After a few minutes, Petunia stood up, and went to the kitchen, and came back a few minutes later with tea.

Finally, Vernon seemed to steel himself, and said, “Well, we’ve had a near brush with death, but I think we ought to count ourselves as lucky. None of us were hurt, and we seem to have avoided any damage to the car as well. I can only hope that there were as few casualties as possible. What do you all say, shall we turn on the telly and see if they say what happened?”

Petunia and the boys silently nodded, and Vernon turned the television on.

“...and the cause of the explosion is as yet unknown. Firefighters are on the scene attempting to douse the fire, but it has only spread so far. At present, at least fifteen are confirmed dead, and dozens more are injured. Police say they suspect IRA involvement, but at present that’s mere speculation. We’ll have more information on the news at six. Here we have Inspector Jonathan Toews of Scotland Yard with the latest report...”

The IRA? That didn’t sound right to Harry. There’d been something _odd_ in what happened to him in that room, something _unnatural_. Wax figures didn’t normally talk, and beams of metal didn’t normally fall from the ceiling of otherwise structurally sound buildings. It wasn’t the first time something odd had happened to Harry, and unfortunately, it didn’t seem like it would be the last.

“Honestly, could this day get any weirder?” Harry muttered to himself.

Suddenly, there was a tapping sound at the kitchen window. It was repetitive, and insistent. Harry got up to go have a look, but then stopped dead in his tracks at a most peculiar sight.

There was an owl at the window.

_And it was carrying a letter_.


End file.
